


The Meeting

by ExpressAndAdmirable



Category: Dystopia Rising (Live-Action Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 15:09:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13149249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExpressAndAdmirable/pseuds/ExpressAndAdmirable
Summary: Just another day in the wastelands.





	The Meeting

They set off before dawn, as they often did in the warmer months. Sometimes their numbers swelled to over a dozen in multiple wagons, a true caravan, but this morning their company was only two. The man in the broad-brimmed hat and the dust-coloured coat sat atop the armoured wagon, reins in hand; the woman in black beside him kept the shotgun balanced on her lap, silver holy symbol around her neck swinging gently as the wagon moved.

It was the distant rustling in the tall grass that bordered the dirt road that caught their attention first. In one smooth motion the man traded the reins for the shotgun, training it with practised ease at the location of the sound. The woman tugged the horses to a halt and murmured a brief prayer in a strange tongue. They waited.

The figure that stumbled out of the grass into their path was not one of the walking dead, the man realised as his finger tensed on the trigger. It was very much alive, out of breath, eyes wild, skin glowing with a faint red luminescence quickly fading in the morning light. He wore a jumpsuit that may once have been blue or green and black gauntlets that tapered into what looked like claws. A manacle weighed on each wrist over the gauntlet, the chain that once connected them broken. He saw the wagon, the gun, the figures behind it, and froze.

For one long moment, nobody moved. Even the horses were still. Then, slowly, the man relaxed his aim. The figure in the jumpsuit looked as if his heart had remembered to beat again; his whole body sagged slightly as he tried to catch his breath. Atop the wagon, the man and the woman looked at each other. The man quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head toward the figure on the ground. The woman nodded almost imperceptibly. The man smiled and turned his attention back to the figure.

“Howdy, friend,” the man called out, touching his finger to the brim of his faded hat. The figure paused, confusion momentarily replacing the panic on his soot-streaked face. He glanced around him, then pointed at himself questioningly. “Yes, you,” the man responded. “Come on over here. We ain’t gonna hurt you, we’re good folk here. What you runnin’ from?”

The question was answered by voices carried on the morning breeze, a chorus of angry shouts from the direction the figure had come. He started and looked over his shoulder, flushed face paling under the dirt. The man on the wagon nodded placidly. “Well, guess you’d better get on in, then.” At that, the woman swung herself down off the wagon and moved around to the back of it. The sound of a key turning in a lock, a bolt sliding back, a heavy door swinging open. She poked her head around the wagon and gestured at the figure to join her. “Better hurry on up in there, friend,” said the man. “I reckon those ‘uns ain’t lookin’ to be too kind to you if they catch you.” The figure nodded and rushed to join the woman behind the wagon, clambering up obediently and settling himself on the floor inside. The woman swung the door shut, bolted and locked it, and returned to her seat next to the man in the hat. He gave the reins a snap and the horses broke into a slow trot.

Before they could get much further, a half-dozen men and women with long coats and rifles burst out of the grass. The man pulled the horses to a quick stop and addressed the newcomers with casual smoothness, bidding them good mornin’ and asking where they were off to at such a pace on this fine day? The group paused, unsure whether to reveal their goal to the strangers. One of them smiled wide and asked them if they’d seen a fella run by, woulda been glowin’ a little, dirty thing in a jumpsuit? The man replied that no, indeed they had not; in fact, they hadn’t seen anyone for near a mile yet. They asked if he was sure and conferred amongst themselves. One decided they would continue on into the grass, fucker couldn’t possibly have got far as the river yet. They finished their conference and with great sincerity, the leader told the man and woman that their quarry was a rough and dangerous sort, real mean and nasty, and for their own safety they should give a holler good and loud if they spotted him. As they made to depart, a boy who looked to be the youngest of the company cleared his throat and addressed the woman, sheepishly asking if they might get a blessin’ from the preacher. She smiled a thin, tight smile and obliged politely, reciting something in a foreign language that made her companion smirk and cover it with a grin. The boy thanked her and they departed, disappearing into the grass on the other side of the road.

The man nudged the horses into movement as the voices faded and gave the woman a sly smile. “Why Rev, I do believe that was not a blessin’ at all.”

The woman chuckled almost sadly. “Doesn’t matter what book you’re reading, they pretty much all say the same thing about slavery.” The man nodded contemplatively, his mood sobered; it was the first time either of them had stopped to voice their suspicions about their new ward. The reality of him did not sit well at all.

They spoke in hushed tones as the wagon trundled along the rutted dirt road. As they neared the old barn that was to be their first rest stop, the man grunted a final consent and the woman smiled, relieved. The man guided the horses through the barn’s large open door and the woman dismounted to close it behind them. After doing a quick sweep of the barn, the man joined her at the back of the wagon. They looked at each other for a long moment, then he nodded and unbolted the wagon door.

The figure in the jumpsuit, who had fallen asleep on the floor of the wagon, snapped awake at the sound and looked around him like a cornered animal. He relaxed when he saw the two faces peering in at him but stayed where he was, huddled against the side of a bench.

“It’s okay, you can come out if you want,” the woman soothed. “We’re hidden, you’re safe now. Nobody here but us.” Her companion nodded his agreement. They waited as the figure slowly uncurled himself and moved to sit in the doorway of the wagon, looking very small for such a broad person, his eyes never meeting theirs.

“You’re from underground, that right?” asked the man. “Can’t say as I’ve ever seen anyone else glow like y'all from the mines. Well, rest assured, as long as you’re with us you ain’t never got to go back there. The Rev and I don’t take too kindly to those who make their livin’ using folk. We’ll get those cuffs off'a you soon as we reach the next sanctuary. You ain’t gonna poke us with those gloves, are ya?” The figure shook his head vigorously. “Alright then. You got a name?” The figure shook his head again and the man frowned. “Right. Shoulda known. Well, I guess you get to pick your own then. Whatcha wanna be called, friend?”

The figure thought hard for awhile, then his face brightened slightly. “What you said?”

“Friend?” The man paused in surprise, then broke into hearty laughter. “Alright then. Nice to meet you, Friend. This lovely lady right here is Sister Persephone Bowen,” she waved, smiling, “and I’m Archimedes Pilgrim. We’re on our way south to pick up the rest of our company, if'n you care to join us.” Friend nodded and Archimedes grinned. “Alright then.

"Welcome to the Caravan of Blessings.”


End file.
